


You Take Me By the Hand I'm Seeing Who I Am

by writetheniteaway



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetheniteaway/pseuds/writetheniteaway
Summary: When Azgeda becomes too bold and attacks Skaikru on his pack's land, Lincoln decides to form an alliance to protect Skaikru and help him keep track of what Azgeda is up to. To seal the agreement, he's given the choice of any omega in the Skaikru camp. So when his eyes fall on the young woman crouching in the corner; he knows he he has to have her. Will she join his pack, will she become his?
Relationships: Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	You Take Me By the Hand I'm Seeing Who I Am

**Author's Note:**

> With gratitude to [Miranda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myonetruelove/pseuds/Sparklyfairymira%22) and [Penguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse=%22nofollow%22) for betaing. Song lyric title taken from Warrior by Beth Crowley.

Lincoln frowns. It’s near dusk, he can smell rain to the west as it rolls in over the mountains, a brown bear to the south he had hoped to make a meal of, and the unmistakable scent of blood. Human, but tinged; werewolves, like himself. 

He listens, ears straining. His sense of smell is stronger than his hearing, but only by a hundred yards or so. He motions towards the scent, crouching low to the ground and keeping quiet, knowing without needing to look that Indra, Gaia, and Nyko are behind him. His pack is small, but fierce—all alphas or betas. Anya had scouted ahead, they would come upon her soon. That left Niylah vulnerable at their camp, though far from helpless, and he has no fear for her as the stench of the slaughter is in front of them, not behind. 

As he expects, Anya has doubled back. Lincoln gives a short, high whistle, signaling that it’s safe for her to be seen. Anya slips from the shadows and gives him a respectful nod. 

“Whose blood?”

“The Skaikru,” Anya says dismissively. “They are weak. Nearly all betas or omegas. Easy pray.” 

“But they are on our land,” Indra reminds her sharply. “And so whoever has attacked them, has offended _us_.” 

“Do you know who?” Lincoln asks.

“Azgeda,” Anya spits. “Down from the mountains earlier and earlier each year, and lingering longer and longer as they travel.” 

“Are you certain?” Nyko asks. 

Lincoln’s mind runs with possibilities. They had a fragile understanding with Roan, the alpha leader of Azgeda, dating back to a truce agreed upon with Roan’s mother Nia. Nia no longer travels, preferring her den deep in the mountains, but her greed for hunting grounds grew by the year, and she has Roan pushing the boundaries of that truce. Hunting on the land is a point of contention; they are only supposed to take as much as necessary to continue on their way south and no more. But to attack another pack, even one as weak as Skaikru that may as well themselves be prey, was simply unacceptable. 

“I saw Echo,” Anya says curtly, “tearing into the neck of an omega. The Skaikru alpha started to fight her but Roan stepped in.”

“A message, not a massacre,” Gaia concludes. 

“Which way did Azgeda go?” Lincoln demands. 

“East towards the water, away from our camp and Skaikru both.”

“They’re scouting terrain,” Indra observes. 

“We should follow them, drag them back across the line and toss them into the mountains where they belong. It’s no concern of ours if they starve themselves because we hold the forest,” Nkyo asserts. 

“Perhaps that time will come,” Lincoln says. “But we will speak with Skaikru first, and be certain they did not provoke the attack. If we were to accuse Azgeda of such an offense mistakenly, Nia would start a war without hesitation. I do not want that if it can be avoided.” 

“Then we should kill the Skaikru pack before they do something foolish and she blames us,” Anya says.

“We do not kill our own kind,” Lincoln reproaches her. “Not unless there is no other alternative.” 

Anya looks at him with disdain. 

“Am I understood?” Lincoln demands of them all.

“Yes Alpha,” comes instantly from Indra, Gaia, and Nyko. He waits to hear from Anya as well, but she stands in silence. 

“Obey or be cast out,” Indra threatens. 

“You need me,” Anya insists, snarling as she steps toward Indra who crouches low, ready to spring. 

“We do not,” Lincoln says calmly, stepping between them. “If you do not wish to obey, then we will part ways here. You can return to camp in the morning to collect your things when we return.” 

“You condemn me to travel alone with Azgeda roaming these lands freely?” Anya retorts. 

“You condemn yourself with your insolence,” Gaia replies. 

“Skaikru is weak, they take from our hunting grounds and invite invaders to our borders. There is no reason to let them live.” 

“The reason is because your alpha demands it,” Lincoln says, his voice low and severe. “We are both human and beast, Anya, and I will not let your bloodlust disrupt that balance. Now I ask you a final time, am I understood?” 

Anya looks at the pack, considering her options carefully. “You are understood, Alpha,” she says flatly, her displeasure still evident in her tone. 

“Scout ahead, be certain there is no one between us and Skaikru. We must arrive quietly as they will be on edge.” 

“Yes Alpha,” Anya says again, spinning on her heel and lunging into a crouch as she reaches the tree line. 

“Her disloyalty is a threat to our safety,” Indra grumbles. 

“It was dealt with,” Lincoln says decidedly. “And now it is over. Resentment is a threat to our safety as well.” 

“Of course, Alpha,” Indra agrees. “It is finished.” 

Lincoln nods in approval, starting off at a jog on two legs before lunging onto all four. He loves to run through the woods at night—to surrender, for a moment, to the wolf that he spends his days keeping tamed. 

Anya howls in the distance, signaling that the path is clear. Lincoln barks out orders, directing Nyko and Gaia to run ahead and meet her, to give the Skaikru camp a wide range and come up behind them. He has never spoken to the Skaikru pack, only observed them from afar and recognized them as disorganized, chaotic, and though he did not like to agree with Anya—they were weak. And now, fresh off the attack by Azgeda, they will be skittish, and likely to act rashly. He wants to be prepared to control the situation if he has to. 

Lincoln and Indra slow to a jog as they reach the clearing for the Skaikru camp, stretching themselves upright. Lincoln can hear the commotion as their scent becomes noticeable to the guard. 

“Who are you?” a low voice shouts into the trees. 

“My name is Lincoln,” he replies loudly, stepping slowly towards the open clearing with his palms up. “We heard of your attack, and we came to offer assistance.” 

“We’ve got it covered,” the voice—Lincoln presumes it belongs to their alpha—insists. 

“You were attacked,” Lincoln continues, “by a pack from Azgeda—they live in the mountains. They have encroached on my land and violated a treaty in doing so.”

“How many of you are there?” the alpha asks. 

“I am here with one other,” Lincoln says, then on an instinct, “there are three others as well. If you will allow it, we will all make ourselves known to you.” 

Lincoln hears the alpha consult with one of his people in hushed tones, and then an agreement to the suggestion. Lincoln whistles, summoning Gaia, Nyko, and Anya from the trees as he strides to the center of the Skaikru camp with Indra by his side. 

The Skaikru alpha stands with his arms crossed and face composed, though many of his pack are visibly afraid, still shaken from the unwelcome visit of their last guests. They are nothing like Lincoln’s pack—many of them are omegas. If the scent did not betray that fact about them their frightened expressions certainly did. Lincoln feels a surge of pity.

“I am Lincoln,” Lincoln repeats, offering his hand in greeting. 

“Bellamy,” the Skaikru alpha replies, returning the gesture. 

“Are any of your people injured?” Lincoln asks. “Nyko is a healer,”

“We have a healer of our own,” Bellamy replies, “but those who were attacked were unsavable.” 

“How many were lost?” Nyko asks. Bellamy’s face betrays a look of surprise at being addressed by someone other than Lincoln. 

“We have no omegas among us,” Lincoln explains, lest Bellamy take offense. 

Bellamy spends a moment processing that information before he answers, “We lost four. Three killed outright.” He swallows, clearly upset by the loss. “And one who took her own life to avoid capture.” 

Gaia gasps at the admission; Lincoln flashes her a look of warning. While it was true that Lincoln’s pack has no omegas, he did not wish to betray their unconventional views of biology to an alpha who is a stranger. Most alphas ran their packs civilly, treating omegas as treasured possessions and beloved pets. But some, such as Azgeda, treated an omega closer to chattel than a human—the omega had made a wise choice. Based on Bellamy’s reaction to the loss of his people, he clearly ran Skaikru more gently—perhaps even to the point of endangerment. 

“I would like to learn more about you and your people, Bellamy—see if perhaps we may come to an understanding,” Lincoln suggests. 

“My people are not for sale.” Bellamy’s reply is instantaneous. 

“As I told you, Alpha,” Anya sneers behind Lincoln. “Weak.” 

Bellamy moves toward Anya quickly, and Nyko and Indra close rank around her—any hints of the lingering squabble long forgotten in the face of an external threat. 

“Step back,” Lincoln says cooly, unclear whether he means the order for Anya or Bellamy. 

Bellamy takes the ambiguity as an insult, growling as he sinks lower into his stance. Lincoln moves to stand in front of Anya as well, deliberately keeping his stance neutral. 

A breathless beat passes before a flash of blonde hair moves between them, immediately turning her back on Lincoln, pressing her hand flat against Bellamy’s chest.

An omega, Lincoln observes, though he wouldn’t know it if he couldn’t smell her. The Skaikru alpha’s temper flares as he steps in front of the blonde woman to push himself between her and Lincoln’s own people. The omega keeps a tight grip on Bellamy’s arm, drawing him back. Lincoln watches their faces with curiosity, it’s as though they’re having an entire conversation with nothing more than a glance. 

Bellamy eyes Lincoln warily. “What is it you want?” 

Lincoln relaxes his stance further, waving off Nyko and Indra. “For now, I only want to talk.”

*

Octavia sits in the corner of the large tent that serves as their communal gathering space, knees pulled to her chest and doing her best to stay invisible—or at least, avoiding drawing too much attention to herself that would have Bellamy send her out to fetch water or carry firewood just to get her away from the conversation. The dozen or so others that make up their pack are all seated around, nursing bruises on their bodies as well as bruised egos, still shaken from the earlier attack and wanting to stay close to each other.

It was kind of her older brother to look after her well-being when she was eight. Now she’s eighteen, and perfectly capable of contributing to decisions that affect the entire pack. So what if she’s an omega, so is Clarke, and Bellamy lets _her_ boss him around constantly. 

She listens intently as the visiting alpha explains about the pack that had attacked them. From where she was sitting, it was a mess. They had walked right into a turf war for these woods and were definitely unprepared to protect themselves. That much, given the pack of alphas that had attacked in the night and these new strangers being unrealistically kind, is painfully clear. 

Octavia tries her best, but the conversation becomes complicated quickly. Their guests try to explain the boundaries under what is considered hostile territory doesn’t sound anywhere close to a good idea, but it’s evident Bellamy isn’t willing to offer up anything of real value for trade. His greatest assets are the omegas he protects, and to an outsider refusing to offer at least one omega to a pack with none of their own is practically an insult.

Bellamy sees them all as human, and thus all equal, just like their mom had taught them both as children. But for all those romantic notions, they are still werewolves too. Sometimes, Octavia thinks, Bellamy is so sure that his way is the right way that he forgets that most other people wouldn’t see it that way. 

“We offer you protection for as long as you remain on our land,” Lincoln says, taking a sip from the mug Harper had placed in front of him. She is playing host, expected by most alphas, but she is also one of their best fighters. She has one eye on Lincoln’s pack, ready to stand between some of the less skilled omegas and the strangers if things turned sour.

“And what is it you want in return?” Bellamy asks cautiously. “We can keep an eye on the borders, report on any movement of Azgeda or otherwise.”

“We have scouts already,” the woman beside Lincoln replies. She’s not quite old enough to be his mother, but it’s clear by the way Lincoln’s face shifts when she speaks that he respects her. It’s a fair point, Octavia concedes. 

Clarke scrawls out a note and passes it to Bellamy. 

“That isn’t necessary,” Lincoln says.”I get the feeling you don’t usually subscribe to the old-fashioned ways.” He is perceptive if he has picked up how Bellamy runs their pack. Or rather, how much Bellamy gives everyone a say in how decisions are made. Clarke shoots Bellamy a look confirming this but the fact that Lincoln seems to have a similar style of leadership where alphas and omegas were concerned is definitely a good sign. 

“We hoped to have an excess of crops by next season,” Clarke offers. “We can share what we have now, of course, but it isn’t much.” 

“We will protect you from Azgeda—you will help us observe the borders and provide a share of food. Are we agreed?” 

“I fail to see what we gain from this exchange,” a different woman from Lincoln’s pack says—the one who had called them weak earlier. 

“Enough, Anya,” Lincoln says.

“With respect, Alpha,” the older woman says, “It is a liability with little gain.”

Octavia can see the wheels turning in Lincoln’s head, clearly giving more credence to the point raised as it’s been echoed by his second. 

“What do you suggest?” Clarke asks. 

“A sign of good faith,” the woman says. “A symbol of this new alliance. Something stronger than a handshake to prove that we take this seriously.”

“A marriage,” Bellamy says, clearly displeased by the idea. 

“It would put my pack at ease,” Lincoln says diplomatically. “And I can see the wisdom in a union to solidify the agreement, even if it is a bit old-fashioned for _both_ of our taste.” 

The admission was the right thing to say—a smart play preying on Bellamy’s inflated sense of justice. 

“So, Clarke—” 

Bellamy growls.

“I was only joking,” Lincoln says quickly, palms pressed out in a show that no harm is meant. 

Bellamy narrows his eyes, clearly unamused. Octavia holds her breath, hoping her pig-headed brother doesn’t let his pride over his omega being approached by another Alpha destroy the opportunity for this alliance to succeed. 

“Anyone else,” Bellamy concedes through gritted teeth, “as long as they’re willing.” 

Lincoln nods in agreement, takes his time to really scan the omegas and betas on Bellamy’s side of the room. 

Octavia’s heart stops when his eyes land on her, lingering longer than they had on anyone else. 

“What is your name, omega?” 

She takes a deep breath, then another before focusing on his scent for the first time. It’s so different than anyone else’s she’s encountered before. Like woodsmoke and salt air and warm soup. _Like home_ , she thinks, surprising herself. 

“Octavia Blake,” she says, pushing herself down from the shelf she is crouched on. 

“Well, Octavia Blake,” Lincoln says, stepping towards her. “Are you willing to marry me?” 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was prompted to t100FicforBLM with a donation to The Loveland Therapy Fund . This fic will update again during the first week of April. If you would like to prompt a chapter to be posted a week earlier, you can donate to T100FicforBLM . Feel free to check out the initiative and send myself and the other amazing writers and creators their prompts for a great cause. Thank you for reading!


End file.
